Swaddled
by Amelia-Maria
Summary: Knowing that his ward was terribly distraught and in no mood to be treated like an adult, Bruce wrapped the ends of his cloak around the boy and returned his attention to the screen. /Rated for some gore and cursing.
1. Needed for Safety

Hey, all! Here's another story with dear Richard Grayson and his daddy-Batbucks ("_Bat_bucks"? "_War_bucks"? Get it? I'll show myself out). Actually, this will be a series of little ficlets: the six times Dick needed the Batman's cape. Dick's age will progess with each snippet, so look out for the chapter titles. Also, I've mentioned before that I'm new to this fandom, so cut me some slack (please?). I may not have some of the ages utterly accurate. Bear with my ignorance.

Please review! Coddle me!

Disclaimer: I don't own Batman. If I did, the entire show would be nothing but Alfred-snark.

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**Needed for Safety**

Richard Grayson knelt next to a figure covered in a white sheet. The policemen had told him that his mama and papa were dead, but he already knew it. After all, Mama and Papa hadn't gotten up again after they fell, so Dick knew everything was not alright.

"We have to take them away now, son," a policeman said to Dick, putting a hand on his shoulder. Dick didn't really comprehend much less _hear_ the policeman until a few men began to lifted his mother and father from the ground. Then, he panicked.

"Mama!" he cried, "Papa! Mama! _Mama!_" He moved to stand, possibly to run after the men who were loading his parents into a truck on the other end of the circus grounds. Whimpering, he pushed himself to his feet, but he lost his balance and fell back to his knees as the crowd milled around him. Confused, dazed and frightened, Dick began to cry.

It seemed that he had only been alone for several minutes before a shadow loomed over him, spreading across the ground. A large, dark figure knelt at his side.

"It will be alright, Richard," came the figure's gruff voice, "You haven't stopped living yet." The figure draped a warm, heavy cloth around Dick's shoulders, which he realized was a cape. This figure was someone important, like a superhero. Dick fixed a watery gaze on the cloaked man.

"What about my mama and papa?" he choked out. The cloaked man's eyes softened behind the mask he wore, but he didn't answer Dick's question.

"If you stay here for too long, they will take you away, too."

Dick sobbed, and the cloaked man opened his arms to allow the boy into his embrace. A gloved hand stroked Dick's hair.

"Come along, Richard. I'll have Alfred prepare you some hot chocolate," the man said, even though Dick didn't know who this Alfred was. The man made to stand, but Dick clutched his cloak and cried out with dismay. "Easy, Richard. Here," the man opened his cloak to allow Dick to huddle against his side. This man was taller than papa, but he still felt safe. He was warm.

"Now come along. You'll be alright."

Dick walked under the man's cloak, sniffling as he was escorted to a car. Though the masked vigilante offered him the passenger seat, Dick trembled and whimpered until he was allowed to sit in the man's lap, still safe under his cloak as he was driven away from the circus grounds. As the car threaded through the city, Dick fell asleep under the protection of darkness.

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Chapter Two will be coming soon.


	2. Needed for Protection

Here is chapter two of the series. Little Richard dislikes thunderstorms.

Pre-Robin.

Disclaimer: I don't own Batman.

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**Needed for Protection**

When Dick began falling asleep at the computer console one night, Bruce rang for Alfred. Bruce had been training his young ward to properly use the Batcave's electronics, but the lesson on researching police files was so extensive that Dick lost interest after three hours. That was excusable, of course. The boy was only nine years old, and Bruce assumed that he was exhausted after toddling behind Alfred all day.

"You called, Master Bruce?" the butler said as he entered the Batcave. Bruce nodded at Dick, who was half-asleep with his cheek resting on his propped-up palm. His lips were parted with the beginnings of gentle snores.

"He's tired," Bruce explained, leaning over to nudge the boy's shoulder. "Dick. Wake up, kiddo. Alfred is taking you to bed."

"Carry me," Dick whined. Bruce gave him an expressionless stare.

"Not unless your legs are broken. Now go on."

Dick complained for a few seconds longer, but he finally dragged himself out of his chair. Alfred offered his hand to the boy, which was taken after a brief yawn. As Dick led out of the room, he glanced back and called, "g'night, Bruce."

"Goodnight, Dick."

After he had changed into his pajamas, Dick heard the alarm in the Batcave go off. Alfred showed no reaction to it, only continued to fold Dick's clothes nonchalantly.

"He's always leaving without me," Dick sighed, climbing into bed. Alfred began putting the boy's clothes into the armoire.

"Someday, he'll allow you to go along. Until then, it's only appropriate to be patient," Alfred said, shutting the armoire doors and then going to tuck Dick in. The boy snuggled deep into his blankets, his eyes traveling uneasily to the window as thunder rolled in the distance.

"I don't want to be in here by myself," Dick protested as Alfred made to leave the room. The butler gave him an incredulous look.

"If you expect to become the Batman's protégé, then you mustn't be afraid of a weak little thunderstorm, correct?"

Reluctantly, Dick nodded. "I guess." He squirmed a little farther under the covers as Alfred smiled.

"Well, then," the lights were extinguished, "Sweet dreams, Master Dick."

It seemed that only minutes had passed before the thunderstorm was in its full effect. With every rumble, the walls vibrated and the windows rattled. Dick had shoved his fingers into his ears and was breathing into his pillow, willing the thunderstorm to cease. It was in that position that he finally fell asleep.

Near the middle of the night, a particularly loud thunderclap startled Dick from sleep. He cried out incoherently as he sat up in bed, then proceeded to call for his mentor fretfully.

"Bruce? _Bruce!_" he yelled, hoping that his frantic tone would send the billionaire running to his rescue. There was no answer, save for a vibrant flash of lightning and a roll of thunder so heavy that it shook the bed. With a whimper, Dick clambered out of his blankets and darted into the dark hallway.

To his greatest relief, Bruce was in the Batcave, still dressed in his vigilante uniform. He was programming something into the computer in front of him, his eyes dark with concentration under his cowl.

"Bruce?" he bleated softly. The Batman glanced over his shoulder at the boy knowingly.

"The thunderstorm is supposed to continue until dawn."

"Can I sit with you?" Dick implored. After a moment's consideration, the Batman nodded. Dick almost ran down the steps, skipping the last one so he could reach Bruce's lap before the thunder sounded again. He was tucked against his mentor's chest milliseconds before another thunderclap rumbled through the cave. Knowing that his ward was terribly distraught and in no mood to be treated like an adult, Bruce wrapped the ends of his cloak around the boy and returned his attention to the screen.

"I'm scared," Dick moaned. The Batman fought a smile.

"I know, but you're here with me now. You should feel a little braver. After all, this thunderstorm is nothing compared to C-4 explosions."

"Really?" Dick asked, turning a curious, wide-eyed gaze up at the masked billionaire. The Batman patted Dick's head and allowed his waist to be hugged as another roll of thunder announced itself.

"You will grow out of this. I promise."

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_I wrote this with a fever of 100.7, so... that's my excuse for everything. Please review!_


	3. Needed for Play

Here's another ficlet, even though it's short. The next one won't be, I promise. By the way, I realized that I haven't been giving Dick's ages. In the first chapter, he is eight. Second chapter, nine. This chapter, he is ten years old. Also, forgive any errors. I'm still fighting a fever and losing. Huzzah.

Disclaimer: I don't own Batman.

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**Needed for Play**

"Can I borrow your cape?"

Bruce looked up from the police files on his desk to find Dick standing in the library doorway.

"Why?" Bruce asked slowly.

"Me n' Wally are making a fort."

A _what_? "A _what_?"

"A fort," Dick repeated. There was something adamant in his expression, as if he were planning on using the cape even if Bruce refused. Young Richard Grayson _was_ one for being stubborn while he wasn't playing vigilante.

"Why not use your own cape?" Bruce asked as a last resort, his attention wandering back to his work.

"My cape's half as big as yours. We're making a really big fort," Dick explained, some unnecessary pleading decorating his tone. Being the ward of a billionaire, Dick was not unaccustomed to getting what he wanted. He'd start with logic, then grow stubborn, and then begin to whine. Bruce preferred to give in before the whining started; Dick was ten years old, he deserved to get what he wanted every once in a while, not to mention that Bruce was still getting used to being a reasonable caretaker.

After giving the boy a long, contemplative look, the billionaire finally sighed.

"Put it back in its case when you're done," Bruce said as Dick grinned, "And please try not to get crumbs all over it."

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_Aww. Please review?_


	4. Needed for Injury

Hooray, long chapter! Well, as long as I can make it in my current state of lethargy.

Dick is eleven years old and quite rowdy. This ficlet is based on a true story (message: do not let your younger sibling fight crime in the bathroom).

Disclaimer: I don't own Batmaaaaaan.

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**Needed for Injury**

Bruce was out on a late call to the office the night Dick played vigilante in the tub. Dick had a spacious bathroom all to himself, which meant that there was plenty of room for him to cause havoc while the door was locked and Alfred couldn't stop him. After he'd eaten his supper, Dick had gone right up to the bathroom, filled the tub, turned on the shower, and proceeded to fight crime as only young children are wont to do.

"Do be careful," Alfred had said when he heard Dick splashing about in the tub. "Master Bruce will be cross if you drown yourself." A puddle of water had started to leak from the crack under the door, courtesy of the plastic water gun Dick had procured from Wally. As Alfred sighed and continued down the hall, he heard the young sidekick yell,

"Take _that_, Penguin!" And there came another splash.

"Dear me," Alfred sighed again. He would have to find more towels.

Dick scooped up a handful of suds from the bathwater and flung them into the air while mimicking a plane with his mouth. Before the bubbles floated back into the tub, Dick squirted water from the toy pistol at them, splattering them against the wall. With a whoop, he climbed onto the rim of the tub and wrestled himself up onto the shower curtain pole with every intention of flipping off.

Even though Dick was still underweight for his age, he was unfortunately too heavy for the pole to support him. With a cracking sound, the pole was pulled from the wall, sending Dick crashing back into the tub with little more than a startled yelp. His head smacked against the still-running faucet, and for a few minutes, he sat in the water wondering why his sight was blurred.

A no-nonsense knock interrupted his recovery.

"If you're finished researching Murphy's Law, Master Dick, I have your bedtime snack ready and Master Bruce will be home within the half-hour," Alfred said patiently from the other side of the door. Dick groaned and touched the side of his head where he bumped it, sharply inhaling at the sudden sting. He drew his fingers back and found blood, but he was used to getting knocked over the head while traipsing about in Gotham as Robin. Deciding that there was nothing to get antsy over, Dick climbed out of the tub at Alfred's insistence and reached for a towel.

Alfred was downstairs again by the time Dick was dressed and in his room. Out of habit, the young Grayson left his hair wet and had his towel draped around his shoulders. He stood next to his nightstand, shoving toasted bread and jam in his mouth while trying his best to stay awake. He felt so _tired_, not to mention that his eyes were beginning to blur around the edges. There was no time for him to sleep yet, though; Bruce had wanted him to go through the police files in the Batcave and pull out any outdated information.

With his hair still dripping down into the collar of his shirt – and why was it still so _wet_? – Dick sauntered into the Batcave and seated himself at the computer console. He worked diligently for a few minutes, but eventually found that his head began to ache, and his stomach churned with the toast he was digesting. Closing his eyes, Dick groaned and rubbed at his temples. Maybe he'd hit his head harder than he thought.

Suddenly, his stomach twisted with a bought of vertigo, and Dick barely managed to stumble over to the trashcan before he emptied his stomach. As he retched into the bin, he felt the water in his hair slide down his cheek and drip in with his vomit. Oh, wait. Not water. _Blood_. Damn, he was still bleeding?

Panic gripped Dick by the chest. He moaned into the garbage and started to stand, but he slumped back to his knees.

Oh, God. Oh, _damn_. Damndamn_damn_. He didn't know what to do; usually Alfred was in charge of these injury things, or even Bruce. Where _was_ Bruce? Dick blearily looked over at the entrance to the Batcave, but the door was still tightly shut.

"Bruce?" he called uneasily, making the attempt to stand again. He managed a suitable crouch, which became some semblance of a crawl as he moved towards the stairs. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark, blurred form. "Bruce. Thank goodness," he breathed, slowly shuffling over to the glass case that held Batman's cape. He leaned against the sheet of material, half-imagining and half-believing that Bruce was there to fix him up.

"My head hurts. I hit it on the tub," he whined into the cape, clutching it with both hands. There was a sudden clank as the hook holding up the cape snapped under Dick's grip, sending him to the floor for the second time that night. With a soft, unmanly whimper at the twinge of agony in his head, Dick curled into the pile of Batman's cape and decided it would be best to never move everever_ever_ again. The blood was still running over his cheek, now soiling the dark material under him.

He didn't realize that he'd fallen asleep until he felt a large, warm palm brush over his cheek. Thinking he was being attacked, Dick cried out and kicked one of his legs, connecting with nothing. A sympathetic sigh was his answer.

"Care to explain why there's blood in your bathroom?" Bruce asked flatly, wrapping his cape around his young ward and lifting him from the floor. Dick moaned and tried to lift a hand to touch his head.

"Was fightin' the Pe'guin," the boy replied in a mumble. Bruce lowered him into a chair and proceeded to press the edge of his cape to Dick's head to staunch the bleeding. It had already begun to slow, fortunately.

"For all this trouble, I hope you won," Bruce deadpanned, examining the boy's head. There was a cut and a lump, not nearly serious enough to cause a huge panic. Perhaps the boy suffered some nausea, vomiting and pain, but who didn't suffer injuries like that as a city's hero? At least Dick had mustered the courtesy to puke in the garbage can.

The entrance to the Batcave opened for Alfred, who brought a tray of bandages over to the billionaire.

"Long night, sirs?" the butler said dryly. Bruce gave Alfred a half-assed frown, but accepted a bottle of antiseptic. "I suppose I will have to repair the shower curtain in the morning."

"I'm sure Dick can take care of it when he's healed," Bruce said, tilting the boy's head back so the wound was visible. Dick gritted his teeth when the sterile cloth touched his cut. Bruce smiled, "I hope you learned a lesson today?"

"I'm too fat," Dick muttered.

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_Oh, you're not fat, Dickie-poo. Please review, everyone!_


	5. Needed for Warmth

This chapter took me way too long to write. I'm not good at fight scenes, and I don't know everything about the Batman villians. Oops.

Dick is twelve.

Excuse my horrible excuse of a chapter. :D

Disclaimer: I don't own Batman.

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**Needed for Warmth**

They're facing off with Mr. Freeze. Or, they _were_ facing off with Mr. Freeze until Robin tripped up an attack which got Batman momentarily knocked unconscious. Of course, Robin immediately went to protect his mentor, standing in front of his still form while the Freeze's henchmen awaited orders from their boss. Quite unexpectedly, Freeze seemed to believe that his efforts were better wasted elsewhere, and he called his henchmen off. This was a relief to Robin, initially, because that meant he and Batman could return to the mansion and Alfred would supply them with bandages and frostbite treatment (Freeze could toss a mean snowball).

As usual, Robin's relief lasted for only so long. During their fight, the dynamic duo had failed to realize they were being herded into a room, cornered under Freeze's attack.

Mr. Freeze stood in the large doorway of the room, his pale face smug behind his glass exterior. Robin's crouch over Batman's form lowered by a fraction, like an animal protecting a prized belonging. He gripped a Bat-a-rang in each hand, ready to throw upon a moment's notice.

"You will not fight, little bird?" the iceman said flatly. Robin narrowed his eyes behind his mask, but said nothing. "Pity, though I was not looking forward to it anyway," Freeze added, and called over his shoulder, "Allenz, close the shield." He stepped backwards.

_Oh–_, Robin thought a split second before the shields – large, screaming metallic doors – were slammed shut, cutting off the light that had previously been streaming in from Freeze's lair. At that point, Robin lost his cool. His enraged shout broke Batman from his unconscious state.

"Robin." The masked vigilante rose to his feet, but the young sidekick was occupied with trying to pry the shield doors apart with his nightstick. When Robin prepared to plant a grenade into the shield's surface, Batman said his name firmly. "_Robin_."

The boy stopped his attempts, his body leaning against the doors as he dropped the grenade back into his belt. He elicited a drawn-out groan.

"This is so _unfair_."

Batman flipped open his communicator and attempted to reach Superman. When there was no reply through the static, Robin groaned again, letting the sound trickle into a whine.

Suddenly, a low hissing sound reverberated through the darkened room, but it came from no animal. Robin felt his hair being ruffled from an air vent overhead. He went to touch his hair, and found that frost had gathered within the dark strands which were thick enough to protect his scalp. Mr. Freeze was attempting to–

"Oh, come _on_."

Without warning, the hissing sound escalated into something akin to a roar. Well aware of the vent above him, Robin ducked out of its path and stumbled to the ground as ice began to creep across the floor. It was a freeze ray; a slow freeze ray that was doing its work, presumably for a long period of time. Robin didn't _have_ a long period of time to deal with this.

"_Robin!_"

The blatant worry in his mentor's call snapped Robin out of his melodrama, and he leapt back towards him. Batman caught him in the folds of his cape, protecting him from the blast of subzero wind on the other side of the room.

Robin didn't mind the dark, usually, being that he _was_ the Batman's protégé. However, being in an unsafe place without any light… Suffice to say, young Robin was on edge. He scooted further into the cape's protection, even daring to dig his cheek under Batman's arm.

"What about you?" Robin asked, voice muffled by armor and chill-resistant cloth. Batman's cowl was protective, but it didn't cover all of his face. From the press of wind outside the cape, Robin knew it would be disastrous for them to be trapped for long. A large gloved hand calmly swept over his head, which he took as a silent '_be still_.'

Several times more, the Batman used his communicator to call in for members of the League. After a while – nearly half an hour, Robin guessed, since they'd both tired of standing and were now huddled together in the corner – of tampering with the communicator to take in a stronger signal, Superman replied in a timely manner. Robin allowed himself a second sigh of relief as Batman gave Superman their coordinates and the status of their capture. He also said something along the lines of 'hypothermia' and 'young ward', but Robin didn't understand that part, because he was half-asleep under his mentor's bicep.

In all reality, he wouldn't have known they were being slowly frozen to death at all, considering the heat that was trapped under Batman's cape. Robin's eyes slowly drifted shut under his mask, regardless of the warnings to "Stay awake" his mentor kept muttering into his ear. By the time Superman finally blasted through the shields and terminated the freezer, Batman was on edge with concern and his sidekick was fast asleep. Robin hardly even noticed when the masked vigilante scooped him up in the folds of his cape and carried him through the door.

"He's usually so… responsive," Superman was saying.

"Correct. However, I won't refuse him rest," the Batman said shortly, dismissively. In his arms, Robin yawned and lazily relished in the feeling of being carried to safety. If he was lucky, he might get a lift all of the way to bed.

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_Please review? The next one will have gore. Hopefully._


	6. Needed To Protect

I apologize for this chapter taking so long! It's a fair bit of work, thinking of scenarios for this duo that doesn't involve constant death (which I am tempted to do EVERY TIME). So this chapter is the result of me giving in to the urge to emotionally wound Robin. You're welcome.

Also, I have some ideas for the next chapter, but if anyone has any suggestions, please feel free to post them in a review!

Robin is thirteen years old.

Disclaimer: I don't own Batman.

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**Needed To Protect**

"Are you sure it's okay to fight like that?" Robin asked his mentor as they scaled the warehouse wall. Said mentor, a sluggish-moving Batman, gave his ward a withering look past his cowl. "I'm serious, Batman. Alfred said you could hardly eat supper."

"I find it difficult to believe that you're chiding me in the middle of an investigation," the Batman replied dryly, pulling himself up onto the warehouse roof. His landing was significantly less graceful than his sidekick's; probably due to the fever of 102.4 degrees Fahrenheit he was battling. He stared blankly at the ground for a few seconds before remembering where he was and following Robin over to the glass sunroof.

"I'm perfectly capable of fighting by myself if you're too ill," the boy said earnestly. Batman grunted a refusal.

"I'll be fine. You just keep performing as usual, Dick."

"Robin," the boy corrected. Batman frowned in slight confusion.

"_Robin_. Yes."

Their intrusion went without much trouble. They dropped down through the ceiling, foregoing the door because of the goons that were guarding it. Once they were on the main floor – a strange, metallic floor that clanked threateningly when Robin ran across it – the fight ensued, and it was up to Robin to find the hostages the Joker had packed away. With Batman holding off the goons, the boy wonder slipped past the extra guards and disarmed the lock holding a hallway door closed.

_This is stupid_, Robin thought to himself as he raced down the hall. His mentor had been remarkably stubborn about going after the Joker, especially when he heard that Superman was going to be attending the fiasco as well. To conclude, there was no Superman to be found, and the Joker was doing extraordinarily well at being elusive to the dynamic duo. One would think the Joker _wanted_ to be found, what with all of the disruptive kidnappings and gunfights that had been going on in the past week. And why Batman needed to talk with Superman was beyond Robin; it was probably because of some anomaly they found in the readings of a countryside villa – whatever it was, it wasn't making their current job any easier to perform.

"Damn!" Robin said under his breath as he skidded to a stop in front of several tripwires. They were at the Batman's ankle-height, which meant the wires barely grazed Robin's knees. Lucky him.

"Oh, you found them." The excited drawl came from the Joker, who stood in a doorway straight ahead, holding the hand of a little girl with tape over her mouth. She looked confused, as if she didn't know whether to begin crying or beg to be picked up. Robin gritted his teeth; nothing was more difficult to handle than a bewildered hostage. They always seemed to like the bad guys, dammit.

"Could we make this trip short?" Robin said, neatly leaping over the tripwires and landing a few feet away from the open door. "I have homework."

"Ooh, I hope it's math," the Joker said with a grin, and began to dig around in his pocket. "Kids these days always seem to despise their mathematics. Logic. Numbers and all that. Don't you kids know that math is only just a game?" He pulled a detonator out of his pocket that looked a lot like a tiny calculator, which he immediately shoved into the little girl's hands. The girl, though muted from the tape, made a frightened whimper as her pudgy fingers trembled over the detonator's keys.

"For example," the Joker began, pushing one of the girl's fingers down onto a key and doing the same with several more, "You put together the right variables, an' you get the right equation. Get the right equation, aaaand…" He shoved the girl towards Robin, "… things go… _boom_."

The girl shrieked behind the tape and started to drop the detonator, but Robin clutched her hands tight around it.

"No, no, no!" he warned the girl as the Joker cackled, "Hold onto this. Do you hear me? Hold onto this and don't let those buttons go. Do you understand?" When he received a trembling nod from the girl, he felt it was safe enough to dart past her to attack the Joker. As usual, he came as a surprise. Without the Batman, Robin could easily be unpredictable; not that he didn't prefer to have the Batman watching his back. The masked vigilante was his safeguard, his 'just-in-case'. Splitting up during missions always put Robin on edge.

But fighting the Joker was easy. The strange clown couldn't keep up with him, and as they backed farther into the room, Robin could see the group of hostages huddled along the wall, all with detonators in their hands. What the detonators would, well, _detonate_ was beyond Robin. Maybe the walls? A main part of the building? The hostage room itself? As far as he could see, there were only about six or seven hostages, each with probably more than enough ammo to mow down a warehouse.

"What are you planning? I'm really getting sick of this," Robin belted, shoving Joker against the wall and guarding his throat with a bat-a-rang. The Joker heaved a sour-smelling laugh.

"Here's some more a-rith-me-tic, little bird. What do you get when you add a sick bat, weak walls, and lots n' lots of C-4 together?" the Joker choked out past a giggle. Robin blanched. "What does a masked hero plus shitty architecture plus an idiot sidekick make? You want the answer?"

Robin's eyes went to the girl outside the door, still standing tremulously with tears running over her cheeks. Her fingers were clammy, sliding on the detonator's keys.

"It makes a really big hole," the Joker answered. At the same time, he gave Robin's shoulders a hard shove, sending the boy stumbling backwards. Initially, Robin started to regain his usual balance, but his foot tripped a wire directly behind him (damn, he hadn't seen it!) and caused a grenade in the opposite corner of the room to explode. The hostages, while mostly unharmed, were startled enough to drop the detonators in their hands in a cacophony of clatters. Outside, the little girl did the same thing and took off running, tripping every single wire in the hallway.

Though his face was singed and the Joker was taunting him past a series of coughs, Robin followed the girl. The floor began to rumble and the walls began to crumble, giving Robin more than enough reason to push himself into a sprint towards the main room of the warehouse. The little girl had disappeared off into a side room, thank goodness, but that wasn't enough to put Robin at ease. He needed to find his partner.

"Batman!" he yelled as he reached the main doorways. "Batma-"

He was cut off by a sudden, blinding series of explosions that were followed by a gust of wind. It forced Robin off his feet, knocking the air from his lungs long enough to keep him grounded for what felt like a full minute. Once he managed to begin gasping for air again, he pushed himself upright and went to survey the damage.

A giant crater had delved into the main room's floor.

There were no goons to be found, save for the few leftover from the Batman's attack. They were tied up in a corner, shouting for their boss and bleeding from the ears. Fearing the worst, Robin rushed over to the closest goon and grabbed him by the collar.

"Where's the Batman?"

"Who the _fuck_-?"

"Tell me!" Robin screamed, scaring even himself. The goon coughed up a string of blood.

"In the fucking hole, you little shit!"

Robin considered throwing the goon into the hole, but vetoed himself and let him go. As he climbed down the rubble into the crater, he called for Batman, rising in decibel each time. His heart, already thudding with adrenaline, began to hammer in overwhelming fear.

"Batman!" he yelled, voice echoing through the cavern under the rubble, "Batman? B-… Bruce? Batm-… Bruce? _Batman_!" His voice cracked once, and he was afraid to truly scream. He couldn't disguise his fear, unlike the man he was searching for. Oh, God, he couldn't help the grinding need to hide under something; a blanket, a table, a _cape_. He couldn't find Batman. He couldn't-… He was _scared_.

"_Batman!_"

"Robin?"

Heart thudding in his throat and making him nauseous, Robin hurtled in the direction of the strangled voice. His mentor was lying on the ground under some loose rubble, which he instantly started to pull away.

"Are you okay?" Robin bleated over and over as he removed the chunks of rock. Batman's breaths were hitched and pained, which Robin guessed was the result of his fever and the weight of the rubble. He tried to clear it away quicker. "Can you talk anymore? Hey. Bats." He threw aside the last piece of cement, and shook his mentor's shoulder. Batman gritted his teeth.

"Robin! Don't touch."

"What? Why?" Robin's eyes went to the length of rebar protruding from his mentor's body. "Oh. _Oh_."

The iron bar was clearly fastened into the floor and had pierced the Batman's side in the precise spot to avoid his major organs – or, at the very least, _graze_ them. He was stuck, pinned. Robin thought it was possible to just pull Batman off of the bar, but they were deep in the cavern and the amount of bleeding would probably kill him, not to mention the pain. And Batman's fever was already so _high_.

"You h-have to contact Superman," Batman said to Robin, who gave him a wide-eyed look. "Robin. Do you understand me? You have to contact Superman. My communicator is shattered and you'll have to call through the Batmobile."

"N-No," Robin whined, his hands fisting in the cement dust. "It's too far. You… You're bleeding and-… I'm not supposed to leave you wh-when you're like this-"

"Robin." Batman sensed that his sidekick was starting cry, and reaching up with a bloodied glove to clasp the back of the boy's head. "Dick, listen to me. Just get to the car, call in to Superman, and wait. You can do that."

Robin sniffled and rubbed his nose across his sleeve, trying to stifle his whimpers. "But… I-"

"- can do this," Batman finished, moving his hand from Robin's hair to his face. He gave him a reassuring pet. "Get going. If the Joker's searching for us-"

"Where are you, Batsy?" The Joker's voice rang out from above them. Robin sobbed once, silent and quick.

"Hurry, Dick," Batman said. Robin bit his lower lip to keep quiet and did as he was ordered. Before he did, he drew his mentor's dark cloak around his own shoulders. He was probably going to get in trouble later for doing it, but if he could buy them both some time before Superman could find them, playing the decoy would be worth it. The Joker was looking for the Batman, not the Robin. As long as the deranged clown had a target to follow, the masked vigilante would be safe. However, if the Joker still had bombs to detonate…

Robin shook the thoughts from his head and sniffed up his tears. He tightened the cape closed and looked to his mentor worriedly.

"You can do this. Just… be quick. Alfred is going to be upset that we're late," Bruce said.

Robin managed a weak, watery smile before he straightened out the dark cape over his shoulders and started to climb out of the cavern.

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_No, I will not tell you what happened, because I'm a horrible person. Hahaha. _

_Please review! _


	7. Needed for Family

Oh, this was horrendous to write. Quite honestly, _this _chapter is where I show my true lack of knowledge about the Batman fandom. I decided to include Dick, Tim, _and_ Damian in the same ficlet. After extensive research on personalities and illness and relationships between characters, this is the monster I have created. I hope I did it some justice.

I don't know the boys' ages for certain. As far as I can guess, Dick is in his early twenties, Tim is between fifteen and seventeen, and Damian is about ten. Please don't crucify me.

This is the final chapter of Swaddled! I am hoping to write more Batman fanfiction in the future, and I thank everyone who reviewed!

Disclaimer: I don't own Batman. Clearly.

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**Needed for Family**

Batman pressed his foot down on the gas pedal, and the Batmobile roared down the street as if it were in pursuit of another villain. Contrarily, there was no villain to be chased at all, save for perhaps the Batman's sanity. It took one phone call – _one call _– to throw him into a full-fledged panic that had him breaking more than enough traffic laws to get a regular citizen thrown in jail.

"There is no need to speed, Master Bruce," came Alfred's ever-so-calm voice over the Batmobile's speaker, "I said the boy was running a fever, not reclining on his deathbed. All will be well if you spare Gotham a few speeding tickets for its most popular guardian. Take your time."

Batman frowned, but let up on the gas pedal enough that he was _just_ breaking the speed limit. As much as he'd be hesitant to admit it, Batman – Bruce, in everyday vernacular – was extremely watchful of his boys, particularly Tim, considering that Damian was constantly attempting to goad him into a fight. The fact that Alfred's informational phone call concerned Tim made Bruce unsettled enough in the first place.

He didn't even stop by the Batcave to change out of costume before stalking down the mansion hallway. Alfred met him at the grand staircase, his demeanor nonchalant enough to calm Bruce down a whole smidgen. The butler gave him a pleasant smile.

"Good evening. I suppose you'll be taking your dinner in the Cave tonight?"

"I'll only be a few minutes," Bruce sighed, gracing the staircase quickly so that he didn't have to see the 'your-blatant-parental-instincts-are-flapping-in-the-wind again' look on Alfred's face. No sooner had he reached the final step did he nearly run over Damian.

The boy was sitting directly against the banister, his legs looped through the thin wooden columns and swinging lightly. He was playing Dick's old Gameboy, brows furrowed in concentration.

"Check if he's dead," Damian said flatly to Bruce without looking up. Bruce raised his eyebrows behind his cowl.

"That's _not_ funny."

"No, it isn't," Damian said with even less emotion than before, which was a feat. "So did you win?"

Bruce was already entering Tim's bedroom, having not heard Damian's last question. He also didn't notice Damian following him, Gameboy forgotten next to the banister where it would surely fall off later.

Tim was curled up in bed, mouth formed into a defined pout and one arm escaping from the pile of blankets covering him. His face was flushed and a damp cloth was soaking his forehead; Alfred had even procured an I.V. drip which seemed to be administering some nameless fluid to Tim's system. Overall, the boy looked worse for wear, but nowhere near death, as Bruce's overreaction had thought otherwise.

Bruce supposed that there was really no need to rush after all, though. Tim seemed in good hands.

Dick was asleep next to Tim, flat on his stomach with a thermometer clenched in one hand and his free arm thrown across the younger boy's body. He looked as if he'd been attempting to stay awake until dawn – which Damian seemed to have no problem with, since he was observing the scene in fascination – but failed in the process. He also looked worried, if that was possible for a slumbering individual.

Bruce let out a long exhale of relief and heard Damian 'hmph' indignantly.

"He read Tim a bedtime story and tried to read _me_ one, too," the youngest Wayne said, "You'd think he'd at least read me something that didn't have pop-up photos."

"It's freezing in here," Bruce murmured, silently treading over to the bed and pulling off his glove. He placed his hand on Tim's forehead, feeling the high temperature that still heated his skin. "Has he been given any fever reducers?"

"I don't know. I haven't been in here." Damian watched as his father reached across Tim's form to feeling Dick's forehead as well. "_He's_ not sick."

"I'm only checking. Ask Alfred for some more blankets."

Damian rolled his eyes, but turned on his heel and marched from the room. Knowing that his youngest son would procrastinate fulfilling his order for at least several minutes, Bruce felt safe enough to check over Dick and Tim a second time. Other than the combined effects of exhaustion and dehydration, they were in relatively good health. Maybe it was just a flu-bug Tim caught.

"Bruce?" Dick murmured when his mentor's bare hand passed over his face. He gazed over at him blearily, eyes squinted against the light from the lamp on the nightstand. His eyes were rimmed with red.

"Hush. I was only checking on you two," Bruce said, finally pulling off his cowl and starting to unclip his cape. Dick eyed his cape, then sat up so suddenly that his eyes crossed for a moment.

"He was asking for it!" Dick blurted out in a hushed voice.

"What?"

"Your cape! I think Tim was only dreaming 'cause of his fever, but he was crying and asking for your cape so I crawled into bed with him. Thank goodness you're back. Can I have it?" Dick said in one breath, holding out a hand. Bruce stood silently for a few seconds, his expression reading both embarrassment (at the thought of his sons still needing him at their ages) and surprise (_because_ the boys still needed him). In all reality, Tim probably wanted comfort from _Bruce_ and not just his cape, but Bruce was tired and Tim was asleep. Any comfort the kid needed from his surrogate father now, he could just get when he was awake again.

With a resigned look, Bruce shook his cape out and carefully spread it across Tim's form, making sure a portion of it also covered Dick. His eldest ward gave him a bewildered stare, but seemed to eventually get the hint and lay back down again. Bruce drew the cape further over Dick's shoulder.

"You used to ask for my cape when you were sick, too," Bruce informed Dick said a wry smile. Dick scoffed.

"I don't need it now. Not at this age. Tim and Damian need it more than I do."

Bruce smiled a little wider, and allowed himself a moment of tenderness as he brushed a stray lock of hair from Dick's face. "Well, it'll always be around, just in case," he reminded the boy, and turned his attention to Tim, who still slumbered on. In an uncharacteristic gesture of affection, Bruce leaned over to rest his forehead against Tim's momentarily, before he pulled away and turned off the lamp.

"Make sure to tell Alfred if his fever spikes," he told Dick, and received a murmured 'sure' in reply.

As Bruce turned to leave the room, he found Damian standing in the doorway with a duvet gathered on his shoulder and a cup of tea in his hands.

"Going to bed?" Bruce asked, but Damian blushed and didn't answer. Instead, the boy stalked past him, set the tea on the nightstand next to Tim's head louder than necessary, and clambered into the bed on Dick's other side. Once there, he gathered the duvet around his small self and proceeded to stare blankly at the wall.

_Vigilante._

Bruce snorted softly in amusement, then left the room and shut the door behind him. Alfred was passing by at the same moment.

"I prepared a beef stew for supper. I'll bring it to the Cave in a moment," the butler said.

"Thanks, Alfred. Did Damian give you any trouble?"

"Of course he did," Alfred said with a secretive smile, "But I offered him a tray of cookies in exchange for guarding Tim's bedroom until noon tomorrow. Now, if you'll excuse me." As the butler proceeded down the staircase, Bruce took one final peek into Tim's bedroom. Just as he expected, all three boys were asleep. At the very least, he wouldn't have to deal with any arguments until the morning.

_Thus, goodnight_.

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**End.**

_ Please review! Thank you for reading!_


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